by John Ringo
"Cottontail ..." Mike warned.
"Ow! Ow!" Anisa exclaimed as she peeled it back off. "That hurts!"
"It's ... pretty strong adhesive," Vanner replied, his back still turned.
"Oh, no," Anisa said as she fumbled under the dress.
"What now?" Mike asked in exasperation.
"It's ... caught," Anisa said, blushing. "On ... hair. Down there."
"You should have waxed," Cottontail replied, her arms still crossed. "This is silly. Let me carry it."
"I don't think Anisa is up to chatting up a guard," Mike pointed out. "Do you have it in place?"
"Yes," Anisa said, adjusting her dress. "You can look again."
"Now, try walking in the heels," Mike said.
Anisa carefully tottered across the room, stopped at the far side and turned without actually falling down.
"This is insane," Katya said, angrily. "Just let me do it! I can chat up the guard and plant it!"
"She needs to learn," Mike said. "We can't be depending on you to do all the outside work. Anisa, one foot in front of the other, like you're walking on a narrow beam. Move your hips with the motion and your shoulders against it. Undulate. Try it."
Anisa sighed and started back. She did pretty well until she got her hips and shoulders out of sync and Adams had to catch her before she fell.
"Nobody had better ever find out about this," she hissed, pushing herself back up. The chief had been exceedingly careful with his hands, but there wasn't much he could catch that wasn't off-limits. He'd managed by wrapping both hands around her waist. This caused her dress to head north and south, respectively, which very nearly left her unclothed. At least in important areas.
"Try it again," Mike said sternly. "This is training. You are going to be doing a mission every bit as important as the door-kickers. They had to train; you have to train. If I'd thought ahead, I would have brought one of the harem. I didn't. This is my fault. Drop it on me. But we're going to need you to be able to do this. And maybe more than just you. You'll be training at least one other girl in the same things. Get used to it. And everyone is going to know about it. You're going to have a security team watching you."
"Okay, okay," Anisa said, readjusting her dress. "Here goes."
By the end of thirty minutes with Mike coaching her and Katya inserting snarky, but pertinent, remarks, she could walk in the heels and even undulate. A bit. Enough to look like a new hooker on the street.
As the two left, Adams let out a long sigh.
"I'm going to have to either go down on the street and hire a girl or go take a long cold shower," the chief said. "That was just ..."
"Erotic as hell," Mike replied. "You can understand why these pimps do what they do. Besides the money, which in this society is nothing to sneeze at."
"It almost makes me rethink my choice of career," Adams admitted. "And they get to do this all the time."
"And beat the girls around when they screw up," Mike added.
"I'm not particularly into beating on women," Adams said, shrugging.
"Well, most of the girls they get don't exactly want to be hookers," Mike pointed out. "And even the ones that do, don't want to give up most of their hard-earned money to the pimps. So they beat on them until they learn better. It's a sucky situation. And you know the fun part?"
"What?" Adams asked, frowning curiously.
"How many whores have you fucked in some third world shit-hole?" Mike asked, turning to look at him. "We're the reason this goes on. You can't just say 'it's males' when you're one of the males that benefited by it."
"Tell me something I don't know." Adams shrugged. "I don't notice you losing sleep over it."
"I do, sometimes," Mike admitted. "And I'm the one that enjoys beating on women. I wish I had the money to buy up every whore and potential whore on the planet and put them somewhere safe."
"But if you did, you'd just have more kidnappings."
"There's that," Mike admitted, sighing.
"You ever think about this whole system as a good thing?" Adams asked.
"What in the hell do you mean by that?" Mike snarled.
"Think about it," Adams replied calmly. "In the states, the predators snatch some girl off the street, rape her and kill her. Here they snatch them off the street, rape them and then sell them. Alive."
"Now there's a hell of a thought and no lie," Mike said quietly. "But you think that some of them don't die in the process?"
"No, a bunch of them do," Adams admitted. "But a bunch of them live, too. For a given value of life. Which means still breathing. Concentrate on bringing home a live one and leave the fucking existentialism for after the mission, SEAL."
"Will do, Chief," Mike said, grinning.
"Now I'm gonna go find some abused, raped, forced-to-be-a-whore whore and fuck her silly ass off. For cash. Without beating on her. End of angst."
Chapter Eleven
"I don't know where to look," Anisa said, nervously trying to adjust her dress so she wasn't showing so much skin.
"Anywhere but at the cars," Cottontail said easily. She clearly didn't care if her dress was riding up. Or down. She looked as if she was terribly bored and more than willing to just have the damned thing fall off. "If you look at the drivers they might stop. That would be good on one level; we'd look like we were actual working girls. But we'd have to turn down the offer. Unless you're planning on doing a trick while you're doing this and I don't suggest it."
"I'm not," Anisa snapped.
"Well, that's one problem off my mind," Cottontail said, smirking. "You might want to try it, though. You don't have a pimp to take all the money and cash is cash. Well, the Kildar might want a cut."
"I'm not going to ... do that with a man other than my husband," Anisa said.
"And probably the Kildar, right?" Cottontail said, snidely. "For your 'bride price,' right? What do you think that is but turning a trick? Maybe you could work up the bride price while you're here ..."
"Stop it," Anisa said angrily. "Just ... stop, okay? We're here to work."
"Well, it's work ..." Cottontail said, trailing off. "There's the car."
"I see it," Anisa said, nodding.
"Don't look directly at it." Cottontail looked around. "Look at the other girls, instead."
Anisa looked around and sighed.
"They are all dressed so ..."
"Sluttily," Cottontail said, laughing nastily. "Men like that. They like to have women that are fast, cheap and easy. They don't have to worry about whether we like it or not. Most of them like that we don't. They like to hurt us, to use us, to make us feel less than they are."
"Not the Kildar," Anisa pointed out.
"Even the Kildar," Katya replied sharply. "He likes that he owns us, that he can use us."
"He treats you well," Anisa protested.
"But he still owns us," Cottontail snapped, turning to look at the girl and waving at the whores along the street. "We're no better than these! We're owned by the Kildar and he uses us at his pleasure! The only difference is we don't walk the street! We just live in his brothel for the use of him and his friends."
"He said he offered to let you all go," Anisa argued unhappily.
"To where?" Katya snapped back. "What can we do but make our way on our backs? There are plenty of girls here who chose to be here, because even this is better than wherever they're running from! Because they don't have any other choice but to sell their bodies. They don't have a family to go back to ..." She stopped and turned away, her face hard.
"Is that what happened to you?" Anisa asked quietly as they continued walking.
"I don't talk about it," Cottontail said bitterly.
"Do you have a family?" Anisa asked, still quietly.
"Just shut the fuck up, okay?" Katya replied. "We're nearly there and we need to get our game face on."
"Okay," Anisa said nervously. She very carefully did not adjust the lower part of her dress.
The guard was a beefy guy i
n a sweat-stained shirt and trousers. He was leaning on the hood of the car, casually watching the girls on the street. In Anisa's opinion, if he was supposed to be guarding the car, he was looking at the wrong people. Or, maybe not, given what she was planning on doing.
"Hi, big guy," Katya said in Russian. "My friend and I were having an argument."
"I saw," the man said stolidly.
"I say that you can tell the length of a guy's parts by his hands," Katya said, slinking up to him. "And I notice you've got really big hands ..."
Anisa smiled in what she hoped was a winning way and leaned up against the hood, turning away slightly. Patrick had told her the easiest way to place the device would be in the wheel well. The device had a magnet and the adhesive so it should stay.
"What do you say?" Katya asked, leaning up against the guard. "How are you ... hung?"
"Well enough for you," the man said, less stolidly. "Care to find out?"
"Maybe," Katya said, coyly. "I've just had an hour session with a guy whose dick was smaller than my finger. And I could do more with my finger than he could with his dick. Do you think you could do better?"
Anisa reached up under her skirt and ripped off the tracer, trying not to whimper as she pulled out a fingerful of pubic hair. Katya was right; she should have shaved. She never had but she'd heard about it. It seemed terribly ... whorish. Okay, so she should have shaved.
She turned back towards the guard, slipping her hand under the wheel well and pressing the tracer into place.
"I'm busy now," the guard said, slid his hand up Katya's dress and fingering her. "I'll be off in about an hour."
"And I'll get you off in much less," Katya said, pouting. "But I'll see you then. You're going to be around here?"
"For sure," the guard said, running his hand over her breasts. "I'll look forward to it. Bring your friend."
"Sure will," Katya said, walking off. "She needs the attention of a real man, too."
"He stinks," Anisa said as they walked away.
"So do most of the Keldara," Katya replied. "So do most tricks, at least around here. It's like they've never heard of soap. Now let's get back to the hotel and maybe I can get some hot water to wash his stink off."
* * *
"He's moving," Tolenka said.
"Got it," Jov replied, putting the car in gear. The four-year-old gray Lad a had been purchased earlier in the day in a very informal transaction involving cash and a promise to get the tags transferred. It was less conspicuous for a stakeout than one of the vans. But a van was right around the corner, loaded with shooters. For that matter, there was an MP-5 at Tolenka's feet.
"The tracer's working fine," Endar said, looking at the screen on his lap.
"Don't pull out, yet," Killjoy said from the backseat. He was one of the American trainers who had accompanied the mission. The Keldara were getting pretty damned good as shooters, but they still didn't know diddly about moving around in the world. Killjoy wasn't exactly a world traveller but he had more experience than the Keldara and could think on his feet. He also was somewhat smaller than Russell, which was why he was crammed in the back of the small car.
"He had a couple of girls with him," Tolenka added.
"Could mean anything," Killjoy noted.
"Speaking of girls," Jov replied. "I couldn't believe it when I saw Anisa!"
"Watch your mouth," Endar snapped. Not only was Anisa his cousin, he'd worked with her in the intel section and respected her.
"I'm not saying anything wrong," Jov said, smiling. "But ... All Father! I never realized what legs she had!"
"Jov ..." Endar said, angrily.
"Can it," Killjoy said. "Jov, pull out. Endar, where'd he go?"
"He turned. Right. I think about three blocks away."
"Turn right at the next street," Killjoy said, looking at the map. "He's headed across the river. We'll parallel, then fall in behind at the Soseua or whatever that damned road is called."
* * *
"He's gone to a townhouse across the river," Vanner said, looking at his screens. "Confirm it's him by intercept. He called someone named Vass and asked him if he had any girls meeting your requirements. Also if he'd ever heard of you. No indication that he's worried about Americans coming down on him."
"Odd, that," Mike said musingly. He was ensconsed on the bed with his fingers interlaced behind his head, looking at the ceiling. "She had to have told them that she was an American, right? She's at the very least a legal resident. And she would have told them her father would pay money to get her back. I mean, getting back a kidnap victim over here is no big deal. You pay off the police, they don't try to arrest the kidnappers."
"So what's really going on?" Vanner asked.
"That's what I'm going to find out," Mike said, sitting up. "Somewhere along the way. But right now, I need to know more about this guy. I'm heading for bed and so should you. By morning I want full intel on him."
"Got it," Vanner said.
"But put one of the girls on duty and you rack out," Mike added. "I'll be right next door."
* * *
"He went back to the townhouse last night at eleven," Vanner said, rubbing his eyes and sipping coffee. "He took two girls with him and no guards. Over the next six hours, girls came trickling in in ones and twos. Looks like about a dozen. There was at least one male present when he arrived and when he left he brought a different girl with him. The townhouse is two story, but it appears it may have a basement. I've got Sawn down at the building records office looking for blueprints. He returned to the coffee shop and has not left. Neither has the male at the townhouse and there appear to be at least three females still in the house. The surveillance team was relieved at seven am. Overnight they put up three surveillance cameras and laid in two window microphones on the townhouse, one of them by his apparent office and another by his bedroom. You want the take?"
"Is it what I'd expect?" Mike asked, biting on an already stale roll.
"Pretty much," Vanner said. "The girls in the house are apparently not fully trained. They're in the process of being prepared, so to speak. This is the analysis from my section and I've audited enough of the take to agree. I'm a little reluctant to have the Keldara girls doing point on this. It's pretty brutal."
"They'll find out what it's all about when they get married," Mike said, shrugging. "Have a talk with them as a guy, though. I don't want them getting so emotionally scarred they're put off of sex for life. And who else is going to do it? The shooters?"
"Point," Vanner admitted. "We also placed two mikes in the coffee shop, near his usual table, and I've, of course, got his cell phone wired."
"If Adams ever shakes a leg, get him up to speed," Mike said. "I'm going to go shopping."
* * *
"Mr. Duncan," Ahmed Pasha said, sitting down next to him. "A little early for Johnny Walker is it not?"
"The sun's over the yardarm somewhere," Mike said, swirling his drink. "Do you live here?"
"No," Pasha said, lifting his chin and clicking in negation. "But it is a good place to conduct business. Many traders come in here. How are your girls?"
"Almost recovered from the rigors of the trip thus far," Mike said. "We're definitely leaving tomorrow morning."
"I have found one girl that would possibly meet your requirements," Pasha said, leaning over conspiratorily. "A young Ukrainian girl. Very nice, very pretty. Blonde. Not much in the breast department but unspoiled and very pretty. And they may yet grow; she is quite young."
"Works," Mike said, nodding. "Yours?"
"A friend's," Pasha said. "I can introduce you, if you wish."
"Pasha, you don't have any friends," Mike said. "What's your cut?"
"Ten percent," Pasha said. "Minimum of one hundred euros, cash."
"You really think this girl's worth a thousand euros?" Mike said with a laugh. "Right. Pull the other one."
"Pull the other what?" Pasha asked, confused.
"Sorry, doesn't translate," Mike
replied. "I was saying that you were not being truthful with me. Girls here go for less than five hundred euros, even the best."
"This one is unspoiled," Pasha said, sternly. "She will get you much money where you are going. Enough that you will pay."
"We'll see," Mike said. "Here?"
"I have a room here," Pasha said. "Two eleven. That is neutral ground, yes?"
"Okay," Mike said with a sigh. "When?"
"I will call my friend," Pasha replied. "Perhaps soon after noon."
"Okay," Mike said. "I'll give you my cell number."
Chapter Twelve
Pasha's room, as befitted a more or less permanent resident, was much cleaner than the ones Mike had secured. That seemed to be mostly his doing. Whatever his failings as a slave trader, he was apparently quite neat in his housekeeping.
Mike was in an easy chair nursing another Johnny Walker when there was a knock at the door. When Pasha opened it, a man pushed a young girl into the room and then followed it up with a slap to the back of her head to make her step farther in.
"Here's the stupid slut I was talking about," the man said harshly. He was at least in his sixties with a red face and nose half hidden by a white beard. He'd make a nice Santa Claus and Mike wondered if he used that to pick up his victims.
The girl was clearly frightened, even terrified. And, yes, very pretty. About five one, long blonde hair and blue eyes. And no more than twelve. She was just starting to get the gangling growth spurt that kids hit at that age and might, indeed, grow some more tit. He wasn't sure she was even menstruating yet.
"Very nice," was what he said.
"Strip," Santa Claus ordered the girl.
"Please," she whimpered. "I just want to go home ..."
"Strip, stupid whore ..." Santa Claus snarled, drawing his hand back.
"No marks!" Mike snapped, standing up and walking over. "Girl, I must see what I'm buying. Take off your clothes."
"Please, no ..." the girl begged, looking up at him with tears in her eyes.
"This is how you do it without marks," Mike said, sighing and gripping the back of the girl's head with his thumb and forefinger. He applied pressure, hard, and received a gasp as the girl's knees buckled at the pain. "Take off your clothes, you stupid slut."